


Be nice

by Miasmatique



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Update every Sunday, my first fanfic in english, trigger warning: past abuse, trigger warning: self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8581843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miasmatique/pseuds/Miasmatique
Summary: Rick notices there's something wrong between Daryl and Jesus, and he decides it needs to change.    “It makes me wonder,” Jesus started, turning his eyes back on the road; “why do you keep pushing me away?” “And why do ya keep tryin’ ta get close?” Daryl’s response was immediate. Jesus took a deep breath. “You know.”    Big thanks to my dearest R.C., for being the best beta-reader in the world, and to sweet Agness (who almost got a heart attack and killed me, while reading this), for great advices.





	1. "Prologue"

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> This is my first fanfic on AO3, and also the very first in English. Treat it with care, please ;). Also, any comments will be highly appreciated, as, um, a welcome to this community? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I hope you'll like this story.  
> Enjoy!

“Daryl, we need to talk” said Rick. The hunter immediately understood he would regret coming over to his friend’s house. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at Grimes. It’s not that he didn’t like talking with Rick but there was something in the ex-cop’s tone that made Dixon’s stomach twist. _Just please, don’t fucking ask about Jesus,_ he thought.

They were sitting on a couch and Rick leaned over to put his forearms on his knees. He intertwined his fingers, letting out a shaky breath. It took him a while before he looked up into Daryl’s eyes.

“I may be wrong but… you don’t really like Jesus, don’t you?”

_He fucking asked about Jesus._

“I’unno. Why?” He fidgeted in his seat.

“Because…” he hesitated. “Let me be honest, you treat him like shit,” Rick said it as if he was talking about the color of the walls. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t important, because he wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t.

“Nah” Daryl mumbled. “I treat ‘im very fine.”

“You’re laughing at the way he looks like.”

“Such a big deal.”

“You’re doing it at least once a day.”

“S’what? He looks like an idiot.”

Rick raised his brows. “When we’re with the others, you don’t seem to notice his presence and ignore him.”

Daryl remained silent, so Rick continued, “You’re mean towards him.”

“Ain’t true!”

Grimes gave him the withering look. “You stole his knife a few days ago, just to make him anxious.”

“Didn’t know it was his!” In that point, he actually was right.

Rick sighed. Arguing with Daryl was pointless. “Okay, so… let’s just say you are quite nasty. And it’s simply not nice since Jesus is living in our community and he’s been helping a lot. Like, _a lot_. He’s doing every freakin’ job he can. And he’s the kindest person I’ve ever got to know. Man, he even gave you a gift, didn’t he?”

“Yea, some belt.”

“Oh, right, now I remember! You told him it was ugly as fuck, and you threw it away.”

“I didn’t.” He stopped and raised one eyebrow. “I did…?”

Rick rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Listen here, Daryl. Could you just give him a chance?” His voice sounded exhausted. “Try being nice to him for just a one day. Please. For me. I really care about it.”

Daryl lowered his head, suddenly guilty. He wouldn’t have thought that it mattered to Grimes so much. He knew he was being harsh towards Jesus, trying to push him away. And he knew why. But he couldn’t tell it Rick.

“What should I do?” he asked him, voice quiet and harsh. His hair fell down on his eyes, the natural barrier from the rest of the world.

“Don’t know, maybe go on a run together. Jesus was supposed to visit Alexandria tomorrow, so you could pick him up in Hilltop. Just… be nice. Okay?”

Daryl wasn’t so sure about this idea, but he didn’t want Rick to worry. His friend did so much for the archer and for the community, seeing him like this was just not right.

Daryl finally snorted. “’kay”

Rick nodded his head and stood up. “Thanks,” he said, patting Daryl on the back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gl & hf, Daryl


	2. CRACK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Their small journey had only just begun, and it was already going in all the possibly wrong directions._

The sputtering of the motor’s engine could be heard long before the guards of Hilltop saw the vehicle itself. They opened the gates, letting Daryl Dixon in. He made a small round on the yard, scuffing the dust up, before eventual stopping. He hopped off the bike and froze as he noticed Paul Rovia himself approaching him.

He was wearing his casual white shirt with sleeves rolled up the elbows and three top buttons unbuttoned, showing a bit of his smooth chest. This time there was no beanie on his head. He was smiling, as always, looking at Daryl with those piercing, blue eyes.

And that’s exactly why Daryl didn’t want to meet Paul, didn’t want to be close to him, didn’t want to be nice to him. Each time Jesus smiled at Dixon, the older man would feel a sudden grip in his stomach and his heart beat faster. Each time Jesus _looked_ at him, Daryl would feel shivers go down his spine.

He would never admit it, but the way Jesus made him feel… was inexplicable. Even he couldn’t grasp an understanding of it. He didn’t want these feelings. Not towards a man, who would probably never reciprocate them.

It took Daryl a longer moment to notice that Paul wasn’t alone. He was walking along with some woman – Anne, Alice or something, Daryl didn’t remember, didn’t really care.

“Hello, Daryl! How are you doing?” Jesus crossed his arms on his chest. Maybe he was smiling, but deep in his heart he knew what was going to happen in a moment and it was making him feel uneasy.

 _Be nice,_ the hunter repeated in his mind.

“M’fine,” he rasped, evidently surprising Jesus who was expecting something in the not-your-fucking-business style.

“So, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Mhm. Rick said yer goin’ to Alexandria today.”

“That’s correct.” He frowned. “You’re here for me or…?”

Daryl moved the weight of his body from one leg to the other. “Yea, we may go on a run.” It sounded a bit intimate to him, so he dropped his gaze, self-conscious.

“Oh…” Jesus raised his brows. “I mean, sure. I’d be glad. Let me change my clothes quickly and we can go.”

The girl standing next to him put her hand on his shoulder. She asked, concerned: “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course, darling!” He kissed her on her cheek. “You know me. I’ll be good.” He turned to the hunter, who was looking everywhere but the pair. “Come, Daryl. You can wait at my place, if it’s okay with you.”

Daryl felt a sudden pit in his stomach, an itching feeling, making him shudder. Actually it was pleasant, but he would never admit that. He shrugged in response, then followed the warrior inside.

They stepped into the hallways of the main building in Hilltop. Its monumentality, old furniture and cleanness would always make Daryl feel small and uncultivated. It reminded him of his humble background.

Jesus started walking upstairs. He was talking for the whole time. In the past it would annoy Daryl so much that he would tell Jesus to stop saying anything. Now what was irritating for him, was that he actually _liked_ Jesus’ talking – it was causing Daryl to have so many unwanted feelings, he willed to tell Jesus to shut up, to shut out these emotions. But he promised to be nice. He was trying to ignore the babbling, trying to find distraction from Paul’s soft voice.

They entered one of the apartments, and went through the living room to the bedroom. It was plain, simple and clean, as everything else in this goddamn house. Making Daryl feel like a complete mess-up with his tousled hair, dust and dirt stuck to his body. The room itself looked as if nobody really lived here. The only testament to it being used by someone, was the trench coat lying on the bed, pile of books on the side table and some figurines on the window sill.

“Have a sit,” said Jesus, pointing at the bed.

Daryl sat on the edge, and started fidgeting with his hands. He was watching Paul take out of the wardrobe some clothes and then disappear behind the door to the bathroom. The hunter looked around quickly, left out alone here in this unfamiliar place, and almost immediately dropped his gaze, somehow overwhelmed by the new environment. He crossed his arms on his abdomen.

He almost jumped when the door sprang open; Jesus walked out of the bathroom. Daryl blushed as he noticed the younger man was shirtless. He was outstandingly slim and fit, light muscles on his chest and abs. Dixon couldn’t help but staring at the thin strip of hair underneath Jesus’ navel area.

“Daryl, please, don’t laugh, but I need your advice, because I can’t decide. Which one is better?” In one hand he was holding a sleeveless, dark blue shirt, in the second another white blouse.

The hunter let out a muffled low grumble. He frowned his brows, and narrowed his eyes, as the realization smacked him in the face: he was checking Jesus out.

 “Why d’ya ask for an advice a person who don’t even like ya?” he snapped. And he immediately regretted it. Paul was always smiling, that was true. But in that moment Daryl saw on Paul’s face – barely noticeable – a hint of sadness. Daryl felt his heart thump in his chest and heat going to his cheeks.

And then the whole impression was gone when Jesus laughed.

“You can’t fool me, mister Dixon. I know you secretly like me deep in your cold heart.” He disappeared in the bathroom again.

Daryl laid down on the bed and rubbed his face with hands. He didn’t know why, but evidently he hurt the younger man, even though Paul was trying to hide it. Again today, the hunter felt guilty.

“Rovia?!” he shouted, not sure whether to address him Paul or Jesus. One sounded inappropriate, the other stupid.

“Still here, sir!”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Pick the blue one” he said.

 

*

 

Jesus rolled down a car window and stuck his head out of it. Again, he was wearing his beanie and leather gloves.

“Where are we heading?” he smiled.

Daryl got on his motorcycle. He was avoiding to look at Jesus’ face. He knew, what he would see if he looked at him. He knew, what he would _feel_.

“I’unno” he answered. He turned the engine on. “Just go after me.”

“Obviously. You are the leader here.”

The hunter needed all his mental strength to stop himself from telling Jesus to fuck off. Not saying anything, he started out and Paul followed him.

As they skipped the Hilltop’s gates, the smile on Jesus’ face started slowly fading. He thought about what Daryl told him earlier and it made him wonder if he really meant it or no. Since the very first day of their meeting, Jesus became intrigued by the hunter. He was a silent, shy man, who – as Jesus observed – guarded his insecurities by being harsh towards others. As he was watching Daryl in certain situations, he was noticing more and more details in him – the way he talked, the way he walked in circles when he got irritated, the way he blushed when he was embarrassed. He would always stand aside from the group; he acted like a tough, heartless guy, but Jesus knew deep inside that the truth was different. And he wanted to get to know the truth, to get through his barriers, to – at least – befriend him.

He secretly hoped that Daryl was mean to him, because he was hiding his real emotions, as he always did.  It was very pleasant to dream Daryl could be gay. When Jesus was hit by this idea, like a living cheap romance, for the first time, he got very angry at himself. Back then he knew he shouldn’t think about it, because it was wrong on so many levels – for him, for Daryl… But as time was passing, Jesus was slowly getting used to the fact he had a crush on the hunter. Eventually, he would brazenly let himself sink in these thoughts, as he found it mercilessly soothing. It became his own paradise.

And Daryl Dixon managed to crash it in one sentence.

Paul sighed. The view of wings on Daryl’s vest only made him feel worse. Their small journey had only just begun, and it was already going in all the possibly wrong directions. Now all that Jesus wanted was to freaking scream, rave his guts out. Of all the men out there, he had to fall for Daryl fucking Dixon. Probably the only person in this wasted world who just admitted that doesn’t want to have anything in common with Jesus. Allowing himself to feel something for the hunter was a mistake. It would only cause suffering.

Suddenly the sight of the buildings by the road broke him out of his brown study. He narrowed the eyes, scanning the surroundings thoroughly. He expected Daryl to stop there, but the hunter didn’t even slow down. _What the fuck?_ God, one more moment and they will pass by. Jesus pushed the gas pedal to accelerate.

“We’re not stopping here?!” he shouted at Daryl through the opened window.

Only then the hunter started slowing down.

Jesus parked the car. He put on his trench coat, took a deep breath, lingered for a moment, then got out of the vehicle. He looked around and froze. The wave of memories hit him like a tsunami.

That was the place, where he and Daryl met for the first time.

He looked at the hunter and he met his eyes. Dixon quickly looked away. How long was he staring at Paul…? Did he recognize this place too?

“There’s nothin’ ta loot ‘ere” said Daryl.

 “How can you know?” Jesus asked Dixon. “Let’s quickly scout out there, shall we?”

Daryl wasn’t so enthusiastic about this idea, but he didn’t show it. He shrugged and followed the younger man. They stopped in front of the metal doors to one of the old stores. Before entering, Jesus pulled out a bandana from his pocket. Daryl watched him tie the piece of fabric over his mouth. Paul looked up and smiled at hunter, his eyes crinkling up. Dixon turned away quickly, feeling the wave of warmth heating up his cheeks. 

“Shit” he heard suddenly. He looked back at Jesus to see him trying to open the doors. They were locked so now he was pushing it with his whole body. Finally, he stepped aside. He stretched. Daryl felt his heart beat faster. 

“I’ll try to kick them out” Jesus proclaimed and Dixon opened his eyes wide at this statement.  Right when Paul was about to take a run-up, Daryl stopped him by blocking his way and putting hand on his chest.

“Da fuck you doin’?!” his voice was harsh as always. “Ya wanna break yer leg?!” After a while yet he realized how stupid it sounded.

Jesus raised his arms in a settling gesture, ironic smile reflecting in his eyes. “Easy, Daryl.”

“Don’cha fuckin’ easy–me”.

“I’ve already done that before” he shook his head, amused.

“But not with the metal doors, I bet. I’m not lettin’ ya do this” Daryl’s voice was pretty adamant.

“Oh, really? Why do you care, anyway?” This question made Daryl’s jaw drop. “I thought you don’t like me, as you said…”

Jesus meant it to sound like teasing, but the result was way more serious – the concern in his voice, barely noticeable or no, betrayed him. He dropped his gaze when he realized he practically opened-up to the hunter, by accidently revealing his feelings.

“I ain’t don’t like you…” Daryl said quietly.

Jesus looked up back at Dixon, searching the confirmation to what he said on his face. The hunter lowered his head; the look in Paul’s eyes softened. Both of them went silent and it was like an eternity before Daryl realized he was still pressing his hand to Jesus’ chest. What’s more, suddenly he also noticed Jesus’ heart was beating definitely too fast. He wanted to step back only as much as he wanted to step closer.

Eventually, they stepped away from each other in the same time. Daryl faced the door, feeling the embarrassment grew inside of him. Jesus put his hands on his hips and focused on the sight of an empty street. He could sense the pleasant warmth in the place where Dixon touched him. He could feel the hope strike at him again.

“I’m stronger. I’ll try with them doors” he heard Daryl saying.

Jesus shook his head.

“No, you were right. It makes absolutely no sense.” He turned around towards the hunter. “I think the only possible way to get inside is through the roof.”

“Roof?” Daryl felt shivers go down his spine as he suddenly remembered of his brother.

“Yes. Earlier I noticed there some kind of a scuttle – probably that used to be the only way to access the chimney. I’ll go first.”

Daryl moved anxiously. “I think ain’t good idea.”

“Oh, um… you can go first, if you will.” Jesus said quickly.

“I mean goin’ at all. ‘S not safe. And we ain’t know if the scuttle thing is open.”

Jesus sighed. “When did you start worrying so much, Daryl? Everything is gonna be alright. It’s worth checking but if you are concerned about it, I may go alone.”

“Nah. Goin’ with ya.” Somehow vision of Jesus going up there by himself made Daryl shudder. He wasn’t worrying more than usual – only he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to Paul.

He followed the younger man who knew better what to do now. They approached the old trash container on the back. Daryl didn’t even realize what was going on, as Jesus handed him his trench coat and run towards the container. He hopped on it with ease, sprang up to the building’s wall and caught the roof with both his hands. He climbed on it and turned around to face Daryl. A smile reached his eyes again.

He did all of this as if it was nothing. His skills were impressive and Daryl felt like a stupid redneck, as he used to be called. What could he do, anyway? Shoot a crossbow, hunt… and occasionally grunt at people. Oh yes, that definitely was something the guy like Jesus would fall for. Daryl gloomed and his willing to be mean towards Jesus came back.  

Paul reached out with his hand towards Dixon. Hunter held him a trench coat. The younger man rolled his eyes.

“Well, I was offering to help you up, but thanks.”

Daryl didn’t say anything. He hung the crossbow on his shoulder and climbed on the container. Then, following Jesus’ steps, he clumsily jumped to the building and scaled the roof. Jesus helped him quickly, grabbing him by his arm. Eventually, both of them stood in front of each other. Paul couldn’t help but brushing Daryl’s skin delicately, before pulling away.

He put on his coat as if nothing had happened, but secretly he was glad Dixon couldn’t see his face now. He was afraid he was blushing, as he felt his cheeks warm up, and it was embarrassing him. But, oh God, Daryl’s muscles felt so good under his fingers.

“It ain’t lookin’ like a scuttle” hunter’s harsh voice brought Jesus down to Earth.

The hunter was right. The thing Paul took for a scuttle, was in fact a terrible hole in the roof with the salient pieces of concrete. Jesus decided to investigate it. If it was possible, they still might be able to descend somehow. He approached the edge and looked down – it wasn’t that high as he thought. Everything beneath was dark and only glimpse of light on some metal shelves could’ve been seen. Jesus took one step closer, to get a better look…

…and it was a moment, when he heard a CRACK.

Daryl was by his side in one second. He pushed Paul away from the hole. Man hit the ground with the loud THUMP! and scuffed the dust up.

The black fog covered him.

He drifted into silence.

What in fact was few seconds, seemed like an eternity, before he came back to the living.

It took a longer while until he could see clearly again and the ringing in his ears stopped. He sat up, coughing, and only then he noticed what happened. He felt the blood in his veins run cold.

_Daryl was gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, Daryl, where art thou? :P


	3. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going to post it on Sunday but I swear I had stuff... things...

Jesus stood up shakily, trying not to assume the worst. The hole in the roof was bigger now, gaping with darkness. He approached it again, this time minding each of his steps.

“Daryl!” he shouted.

There was no response. Narrowing his eyes, he thought he saw a body down there. Jesus called the hunter’s name one more time, louder, and now he got an answer.

He heard all too familiar groaning and shuffling – walkers, slowly heading to the body.

Jesus felt a sudden grip in his stomach, and tightened his grasp on the handle of the machete, as if it could’ve helped him not lose his mind. Images of walkers eating Daryl alive rushed through Jesus’ head, and he lurched, overwhelmed. He ground his teeth, a dark shadow covered his fulfilled with hatred eyes. He unsheathed his machete; steel’s silver glistened in the sun’s rays.

 _Breathe in,_ _breathe out._

Without a moment of hesitation, he swooped down right on the one of the walkers. The impact squashed its skull, and he slammed it to the floor. He spun around, registering every flinch of movement around him. The only source of light was the hole in the roof, catching the walkers slowly stepping out of the dark. Jesus noticed Daryl lying under a toppled shelf. He stood by his side in a fighting position, ready to protect him at any cost. Jesus heard walkers roaming right behind him. He looked over his shoulder and he saw the undead gravitating towards the unconscious hunter. Jesus tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, don’t you fucking touch my Daryl” he whispered.

And he attacked. He was like lightning. Fast, deadly, beautiful. Striking at his enemies with blinding fury. He didn’t need to think. Everything was written in his muscles, reacting automatically; a natural born warrior. Kicking and punching at all that moved, slashing rotten bodies with his machete, steel singing its own whistling song. He was like wind, a hurricane, twisting in its dance of death, ripping foes’ flesh into pieces. Unstoppable wrath.

One second ruined everything. One second, in which Jesus in all his mighty glory slipped on the brain of a walker, whose head he smashed earlier. He took a swing with his machete and, missing, he stabbed the blade into the walker’s neck. Both he and his enemy fell down. Jesus hit the floor with his back, rough enough that he lost his breath. Thinking fast, he shoved his left forearm against the walker’s neck, trying to push the monster away. With his right hand, he gripped the handle of the machete to somehow release it from its fleshy beholder. Stuck underneath the foe’s body, slowly losing his strength, he glanced at the enemy once more. With his attention being occupied by his machete, he froze, as an arrow had pierced the walker’s skull.

Jesus quickly bucked the monster off, stood up and pulled the machete out. He killed the last walker, which abruptly appeared in front of him, and finally the store remained silent. Jesus turned around to face Daryl. The hunter lied on the blood-covered floor, leaning against a metallic shelf. He held a crossbow in one hand, aiming at the spot where Jesus fell down earlier.

Paul stepped into the light and Daryl noticed he was all stained with crimson. He flicked away the blood from his machete, and he put the weapon back in the sheath. Probably for the first time ever he wasn’t saying anything. Daryl couldn’t take his eyes off him, there was something hypnotizing in Jesus with this murderous look. Actually, in that moment _Jesus_ didn’t really fit him anymore. Daryl tried to think of something more suitable. Paul looked like a storm. Like some wild animal. A coyote maybe. A vulture.

Jesus came closer, and together they lifted the shelf up. Daryl was lucky that none of the concrete fell down on him. It seemed he was okay but the dizziness and swooshing in his head felt almost unbearable.  He could feel Jesus’ round eyes focus on him, when he started slowly getting up. And as soon as he did, Paul pulled him close into a tight hug.

“Oh God, Daryl…” he whispered.

The hunter forgot how to breathe. He was taken by surprise. His mind went blank, thinking of the proper reaction. He blinked the tears away, all moved by Jesus’ gesture and softness in his voice. The last person who hugged him this way, was Beth.

Paul, flustered, stepped back. Too quickly. Too disappointing. Daryl felt lonely again, as if the only source of light in his life was taken away.

“I, um— sorry,” said Rovia.

Daryl didn’t know how to respond, still overwhelmed.

“Ya mean for this—“ _hug_ , he finished in his mind.

“Well, I thought— I’m just glad you’re alive.” Jesus rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, it’s… it’s okay.” He wanted to punch himself in the face.

“And you? Are _you_ okay?”

“I, uh… yeah. Yes. I guess yes.”

Jesus let out a sigh of relief. They remained silent.

“Um… Hey, thanks,” Daryl finally said. When Jesus looked at him with furrowed brows, he explained: “Ya saved my life.”

Jesus raised his eyebrows. “Oh, it’s nothing of a big deal. Like, if it wasn’t for you, that walker would’ve eaten my face. And you risked your life for me on the roof. I’m the one here to thank.”

Daryl lowered his head, hiding behind his hair.

“Fuck off already,” he murmured. He bent down to pick up his crossbow.

Jesus smiled. He was enjoying Daryl’s company so much. “Whatever the master insists on.”

“Prick,” Daryl spat, amused, forgetting he was to be nice.

 

*

 

Somewhere in the corner they found a carton box, which they put anything in that could be useful. It was pretty dark in the store, and they didn’t bring a flashlight, but they managed somehow to pack everything. When they were ready to head back, they approached the door. Daryl, with a better eyesight, was first to notice the entrance was locked with a thick chain.

“Well,” Jesus said, “you were right, I would have totally broken my leg here.”

“Mhm,” Daryl agreed.

He pulled out the axe from behind his belt.

“Wait!” Paul hissed. “This noise will lure even more walkers!”

He moved his hands across the chain and eventually he found a padlock. He kneeled to get a better access to it. He could have sworn he felt Daryl’s glare boring a hole in his back.

“Please leave your comments to yourself” Jesus murmured, pulling out a slide from his hair.

“What.” As if Daryl was going to say _anything_!

Jesus fixed the slide and put it into the padlock. “Just watch the expert work.” He furrowed his brows, focusing completely on the task. He started maneuvering with the slide and Daryl wished the light was better so he could see the other man clearer. They didn’t have to wait long, when they heard the salvific CLICK. The chain dropped on the floor, and Jesus stood up, proud of himself, making Daryl feel ashamed. Again, he realized he was nothing, when compared to this man.

“Let’s get outta here already,” he snorted.

With a gentle push, he opened the door, and peered outside. He had to wait for a while before his eyes adjusted to the light. He saw a few walkers wandering around, nothing too dangerous. He gave Jesus a sign to leave the building. Paul grabbed one of the boxes and started walking to the car, overpassing Daryl.

“So, you’re not gonna say anything?” he asked him casually.

“Huh? What was I to say?” Daryl grunted.

“Um, it’s just extremely unlike you. I opened that door and I was expecting some sort of a reaction from you. Something like: _well done ye prick_ ,” he parodied Daryl’s harsh voice. Dixon didn’t say anything, sullen.

Jesus put the box in the trunk, and he leaned with his back over the vehicle. Crossing his arms on his chest, he watched Daryl stuff his package in the car.

“Honestly, Daryl,” Paul spoke up again. “I’m worried about you. What happened to your usual passive-aggressive attitude?”

Dixon stepped away from the car to get a better look at Jesus.

“What’s yer problem?” he rasped.

Jesus smirked. He bowed his head and shook it. It wasn’t in his plan to make a fuss. He just wanted to joke for a while. But now, as he heard Daryl, he knew he wouldn’t stop himself.

“Oh, a problem? No, no, no… I’m absolutely _good_ with your behavior.” He was smiling, but his voice was a sweet poison.

Daryl felt the whole world escape from under his feet. He knew what it was leading to, and he didn’t fucking want this talk. Not now.

“Lay this straight already, would ya?” he murmured.

Jesus spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.

“I simply don’t get you, Daryl. Once you’re this rude, aggressive guy, the other times you’re keeping your distance. And now you’re kind and helpful. I think the right question is: what is _your_ problem?” Only now he realized how angry he really was.

Daryl fidgeted. “It ain’t that simple…”

“What? Did I do something to you?” he started slowly approaching him.

 _You only made me feel_ , Daryl thought.

Jesus stopped. He was waiting, but there was no answer coming from Daryl. It made him even angrier, as he remembered Daryl saying he liked him. “And I actually believed you…” He sighed.

“Ain’t no liar,” the hunter snapped.

“But you’re still full of bullshit.”

“Shut it…” he said quietly.

“No, this is just pathetic, Daryl. _You_ are pathetic.”

“I said shut it.” Daryl’s voice grew.

Nothing could stop Jesus though. He was switched-on. He was boiling with these electrifying feelings – anger, rejection, injustice…

“I’ve been watching you, Daryl. Very carefully. And you know, what I observed? That you’re nothing more than a piece of shit. I don’t know why you stick with this group. Rick is such a fantastic person, and you?” There was a disgusted grimace on his face. “Fucking look at yourself. Freaking redne—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” It was in this one moment that Daryl grabbed Jesus by his collar and pressed him against the car. “Ya act as if ya knew fuckin’ everythin’, but ya ain’t. Who the fuck ya think ya are, huh? Ya think everyone loves ya so ya can go ‘round and judge peoples? Ya ain’t, fucker.”

Jesus wanted to respond somehow, but suddenly he realized, what he said. The sense of his own words hit him like a train, shaking him off his trance. The anger disappeared, like a piece of fabric covering his eyes. He opened them wide, surprised and fearful of himself. _What the fuck was that, Paul?!_ , he thought. That was so strange, he didn’t recognize himself. Was that exhaustion or rather feelings for Daryl that dragged these words out of Jesus’ mouth? Immediately, he felt extremely guilty. It wasn’t in his nature to say such awful things, and especially not to Dixon.

He felt the familiar stinging pain in his eyes and blinked quickly.

“Daryl—” he started softly, not knowing how to apologize. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Dixon stepped aside and turned around, hiding the tears forming in his eyes. He brushed his hair with his palms.

“Oh my God,” Jesus gasped suddenly. “Your back!”

“What?!” Daryl glanced at him.

“Your back,” he repeated, voice uneven. How did he not notice it earlier?! “You’re bleeding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dear, is he dead?


	4. The wound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's so late, I completely forgot to publish x_x

No, Daryl wasn’t in pain. No, Daryl didn’t want Jesus to take care of him. No, Daryl didn’t want to show him his back.

Why?

Reasons.

After a small argue, which Jesus won, saying Daryl shouldn’t drive at his state, they hid his bike and they sat in the car. The silence between them was getting heavier and heavier with each second. Eventually, Jesus spoke up:

“Did you get bitten?” There was no self-confidence in this question. No shock. No surprise. Only concern. So pure, it touched Daryl’s soul.

He looked away. “’unno.”

Silence again.

Jesus closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I’m so sorry for what I said.” His voice was trembling. “I-I don’t know… It wasn’t me, I think. I didn’t mean it at all. You’re none of what I said, you know it? It’s just… God!” He rested his head on the steering wheel, and moaned. “I’m such an idiot. There are no words to make up for what I told you. If you want to punch me, don’t hesitate. I deserve it.” He straightened up and looked at Daryl with glossy eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

 Their sights crossed, and the hunter felt something break inside of him. Those big, blue eyes of Paul, seeking forgiveness, completely ruined him. And then there he was, all vulnerable, like a beaten animal. He wiped the tears from his cheeks so aggressively, Jesus caught him by his wrist, forcing him to stop. He gulped.

“Please, Daryl, say something.”

It took Dixon a longer moment, before he said the words, which became the most remarkable for Jesus ever: “Many people in ma life called me the way ya did, but yer the first who apologized.” His voice was so quiet. Full of shame and sadness.

And so it happened the second time – Paul Rovia hugged Daryl again. It was sweet and soothing, as their bodies tensed with emotions pressed against each other. As Jesus delicately wrapped his hands around Dixon’s waist. It was everything, and probably it lasted an eternity.

They separated. Jesus turned the engine on in silence. He started driving to Alexandria. They didn’t talk. Paul’s mind was drifting far away. He was deeply worried about Daryl, and he wanted to distract himself somehow. He didn’t even want to think that Dixon may turn.

“Why so quiet?” the hunter murmured suddenly.

Jesus glanced at him, surprised.

“Um… I thought you don’t like me talking.”

“Usually it ain’t matter to ya.”

Jesus hesitated. He could have felt Daryl’s eyes on him. The hunter was waiting for him to speak. That was something new.

“I’m thinking,” he said finally.

“’bout…?”

Instead of responding, Jesus looked at him. His glare was heavy of meaningful emotions.

“Hm,” Daryl rasped, as he understood. He dropped his gaze, blushing.

“It makes me wonder,” Jesus started, turning his eyes back on the road; “why do you keep pulling me away?”

“And why do ya keep tryin’ ta get close?” Daryl’s response was immediate.

Jesus took a deep breath. “You know.”

“Heh, it has somethin’ ta do with yer name, ain’t it?”

 _Oh, if it was that simple_ , Paul thought.

“Exactly,” he lied, forcing a smile on his face. It cut the discussion. Again they were travelling in silence. It annoyed Paul. He was so close to this man – closer than he could ever dreamt – and he wanted to ask him about so many things, but yet there was a blank space in his mind. It wasn’t even a long time, when they saw the gates of Alexandria.

Jesus slowed down. “Daryl… what are you gonna do about your wound?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“But… what if you got bitten?” He was so afraid about it.

“Ya heard me.”

Jesus felt shivers go down his spine at Daryl’s answer. He passed the gates. He decided he will go directly to Dixon’s house. The hunter didn’t react.

When they stopped, Paul told Daryl not to bother about anything and to go home. Rovia will take the supplies to Rick by himself.

And so Daryl was left on his own. He may have told Paul he wanted to be alone, but the truth was different. That was the least thing he wanted. He was scared as fuck. He entered the house – huge and empty as for his standards – and he rushed upstairs, where the bathroom was located. He stopped in front of the mirror, and he tried to get a look on himself, but it appeared to be too difficult. He could have barely seen his back.  

He made an attempt at taking his vest off, but it got stuck to his shirt dripped with blood. He couldn’t have get rid of it for such a long time, he felt so helpless he was almost on the verge of tears. He started walking in circles, trying to calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. _Easy, Dixon. You’ve dealt with worse._

He tried again. This time he used some water and eventually, he managed to get rid of the vest. He threw the clothing on the floor. A deep moan escaped his mouth, as he saw his shirt. He unbuttoned it and started slipping it off, but it caused him so much pain, he had to stop.

“Daryl?” He jumped as he heard this voice.

He spun around, and he saw Jesus standing in the frame. “Whatta fuck, man?!” he yelled at him.

“Sorry, I wanted to check on you.” Paul smiled softly, looking at Daryl’s uncovered body. He wasn’t wearing his gloves and beanie any longer. 

“And so ya just broke into my house?!” Daryl couldn’t believe it for two reasons: firstly, nobody in their right mind burgles into their friend’s house, no matter if it is an apocalypse, or if it’s not. Secondly, after leaving all the stuff in the depot, Jesus came here, just like that, _to check on him_. He felt a pleasant warmth fill up his heart.

“The door wasn’t locked.” Jesus shrugged. He casually leaned over the door jamb. He looked up to meet Daryl’s eyes. “So, how are you?”

“Fine,” he said a bit _too_ quickly.

Jesus looked over Daryl’s shoulder and he opened his eyes wide. “ _This_ is _fine_?!” Of course, he saw Dixon’s back in the mirror. He stepped closer, gaining the better look. “What the hell, Daryl, you need help!”

Paul was right. Damn it, Paul was always right. Daryl needed someone to help him, but he couldn’t ask any of his friends. He didn’t want them to see his body – he knew it would cause questions.

“What’s stopping you? This is stupid. Please, let me help you,” he heard. He hid his face in his hands.

He didn’t want it only as much as he needed it.

“’kay,” he murmured.

“What?”

“ _Okay._ But you can’t talk to anyone ‘bout what you see.”

“Okay,” Jesus repeated after him, getting anxious and scared in the same time. He wanted to ask: “see what?”, but he stopped himself right in time. “Okay,” he said again, encouraging himself.

He grabbed Daryl by his wrist and he led him downstairs. He told him to sit on the couch, and then he disappeared in the kitchen. He came back to Daryl after a while, bringing a towel, a bowl with hot water, a soap and antiseptics.

Jesus took off his coat. He unsheathed his knife.

“I’m about to ruin your shirt, I hope you don’t mind.” He let out a muffled, nervous laugh.

He cut the fabric carefully and when he finally got rid of it, he inhaled deeply, as he saw Daryl’s back. Now he understood why the hunter was trying to hide it, why he was so ashamed of it. Despite the blood–covered part, his skin was cracked with wide, ugly scars. Jesus felt the urge to touch them, but he concealed it. The anger arose inside of him – whoever did this to his Daryl, they’d better be dead.

He swallowed the negative emotions. He knew it was embarrassing for Daryl, so he decided to pretend he didn’t notice, even though he wanted to ask a lot of questions. He focused on the fresh wound.

“I need to clean it first, don’t be surprised,” he warned Daryl.

He was trying to be delicate, but it wasn’t very successful. He ended up literally scrubbing the caked blood off. He was doing it for so long, his hands started aching him. When he finished, he breathed a sigh of relief. There was no teeth marks anywhere. Daryl wasn’t bitten. Jesus laughed at the thought, more than happy.

“Paul?” Daryl’s quiet voice was full of uncertainty.

“It’s just a scratch. Oh dear, you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

Only then Daryl realized he was holding his breath. After having a patch put on his wound, he stood up. Besides that, he was bruised here and there, but luckily it was nothing too serious.

“Thank you,” he said honestly, and Jesus knew this acknowledgment was not only for the care, but also for not asking questions.

“Well,” he stretched; “buy me a dinner and we’re even.” He winked.

The hunter rubbed his arm, not knowing what to do with his hands. “I’ll go put somethin’ on myself,” he said.

Jesus took it as a suggestion for him to leave. “Right!” He stood up as well, feeling awkward. “So, I guess I’ll be going now to do… stuff or—”

“Ya can stay,” Daryl interrupted him. Jesus froze, his mouth half open. Dixon nodded his head, as if agreeing to something in his mind. “Pick whatevah ya want from da fridge.” He lingered for a while longer, before he finally went upstairs.


	5. Tearing your soul up

He entered his bedroom with his heart pounding heavily in his chest. _What the hell are you doing, Dixon?_ , he asked himself, as he started digging through his wardrobe. Finally he found the best shirt he had – not destroyed, clean, with long sleeves, in the color of green. He put it on, and he walked to the bathroom. He took his vest from the floor and he threw it on, completely forgetting it was stained with blood.

 _Be cool,_ he told himself.

He slowly went downstairs. For a one moment he let himself wonder, if Jesus will comment somehow the way he looked like. But then again, doubts arose in his soul. He remembered himself that he was nothing. Suddenly he didn’t know why he was even trying to change something, if Jesus won’t even notice it.

He walked into the main room and he stopped, as he saw Jesus sitting in the middle of the couch with a glass of water in his hand. He only glanced at Daryl, one brow raised, and then his eyes grew wider. Out of the blue this sweet look appeared in them and a soft smile made its way into his lips.

Daryl forgot how to breathe. He bent down his head, willing to hide behind his bangs, and he froze.

“Oh…” he whispered, even more embarrassed. He noticed he was in such hurry he didn’t button up his shirt. He decided to fix his mistake quickly, but his muscles wouldn’t listen to his orders. “Crap,” he murmured, when one button slipped out from his hands few times in a row.

All of a sudden Jesus stood up and approached him.

“Let me,” he blurted quietly. His long fingers worked fast, delicately brushing Daryl’s skin from time to time. The hunter didn’t dare to move a muscle. Damn it, Jesus was so close to him.

“Here.” Rovia patted him on the chest, purposely leaving out three top buttons. He looked up at Daryl in the way the hunter felt like he was about to melt.

“I, uh… thanks?”

And then Jesus realized how awkward it was what he did. He stepped back. He calculated all the possible Daryl’s reactions and thoughts, and he found them all show him in a terrible perspective. He facepalmed himself mentally. _Good job, weirdo_.

Daryl looked at the table and frowned. “Why didn’t ya take any of them food?” he asked, having cleared his throat. The change of the topic relieved Jesus – that is, until the meaning of Daryl’s question reached him and he realized how perplexing it was.

“Um… I’m not hungry. But I do really appreciate your offer.”

Daryl’s eyebrows went up. “Yer fuckin’ with me?”

 _I wish_ , Jesus thought, amusing himself. “No, Daryl, I’m serious, I—“

“When’s the last time ya eaten summin’? Good lord, just look at yourself.”

“What?” He laughed, crossing his arms on his chest. “I know, I’m quite thin.” He expected Daryl to laugh as well, but nothing like that happened. The older man was looking at him carefully with his narrow, observant eyes, solemn look on his face.

“Seriously, man. Are you starving yourself?”

The smile disappeared from Jesus’ face. He opened his mouth, willing to respond somehow, but no words came through his tight throat.

Daryl pointed with his hand at the couch, as a sign for them to sit down.

“This woman at Hilltop,” he spoke again, when they were both sitting. “The one ya kissed on a cheek. Why was she concerned?”

Jesus bit on his bottom lip. He enfolded himself in his arms. He didn’t look at Daryl, as if he lost all his self-confidence. He felt extremely small, like in the past, before he learnt the martial arts – in those bleak moments of his life, when there were only him and cold, unfamiliar darkness. But he wasn’t alone now, not anymore. The hunter was right next to him, waiting patiently for him to gather his courage and break whatever was stopping him from telling the truth immediately.

He sighed.  

“She knew I spent the whole night on my watch, and in the morning I was working with her in the garden. I don’t remember when the last time I got some sleep was, but I do remember the last time I ate, and it was right after I finished my watch.” He met his eyes. “So here’s your answer.”

“Fuck me,” Daryl breathed heavily. “Why did ya come with me then?”

“I wanted to help.”

“Ya were to come to Alexandria anyway. Ya could have some rest and go on a run later.”

“Yeah. I know. But I wanted to go with _you_ ,” he blurted.

Daryl looked away, as if he was slapped by Jesus’s words. They remained silent for a moment.

 “Stay ‘ere, ‘kay?”, Dixon said out of nothing, standing up in the same time. He went to the kitchen, leaving surprised Jesus alone.

The man tried to rest on the couch in a more comfortable position. Daryl’s reaction was… intriguing. He was literally abashed. He looked as if he knew Jesus was interested in him, and he was glad for it.

Jesus put his hands on the back of his neck, thoughtful. Daryl asked him about his eating habits for real. What’s more, there was a serious concern on his face as he caught on to them. Jesus wasn’t really hiding with his nutritional problems, but nobody was caring about it very much, they knew Jesus was a smart guy who could take care of himself, they didn’t want to disturb him. And now there he was, telling Daryl about it and looking into his eyes full of understanding.

The load CLACK brought him back to reality. He looked at the table, on which Daryl placed a bowl.

“’s all I can make. Some meet and that green shit.” He was staring at the bowl as if he was wondering what exactly he threw into it.

Jesus grabbed the vessel and peered inside, curious and amused in the same time. “Shit?”

“Ya know, them… vegables.”

The grin on Paul’s face grew wider. “Vegetables,” he corrected him.

“Yeah, whatevah.” Daryl flopped on the couch. He waved at the bowl with his hand. “Eat.”

Jesus blinked. “Wait… this is for me?”

Daryl bowed his head. “I ain’t no cook, it probably tastes terrible… but ya need to eat.”

It softened Paul’s heart. His eyes were glossy, as he leaned over and touched Dixon’s knee. “Thank you for caring. It really means a lot.”

In that moment Daryl wanted to just dissolve into thin air.

Jesus put a spoon in a bowl and took a bit of the salad. He closed his eyes. It was cold, but it tasted like nothing he had ever eaten. “Mmm, Daryl! This is so good,” he murmured.

The hunter watched him eat as if it was his last meal ever, relishing each single bite.

“Why’cha doin’ this to yerself?” he whispered, his tone gentle and even, as if he feared his single word could be harming.

“What do you mean?”

Daryl sighed. “Pushin’ yerself to the limits.”

Paul lingered with the respond. “I’m not asking you about your past, Daryl.” His voice was quite, restrained.

“It ain’t the same,” the hunter snapped, annoyed a little.

 Paul carefully picked the best piece of meat from his salad. “Okay, you’re right. These are two different things,” he admitted. “It’s just… I’m not sure if you’d understand.”

“I dealt with some ass-shit in ma life. Ain’t stupid.”

Jesus shut his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you…”

“Um… Ya didn’t. And, uh… ya don’t need to tell me ‘bout this, if you ain’t to.” 

Jesus was trapped. He wanted someone to hear him out, but he wasn’t so certain if Daryl was a right person. Paul didn’t doubt Dixon had good intentions and that his concerns were genuine, but he feared Daryl could change his opinion about him.

_Fuck this. Whatever has to happen, let it happen._

“It started when I was much younger,” he began. He glanced at Daryl and almost immediately dropped his gaze, somehow afraid to sustain the eye contact.  “I was growing up in an environment not very sympathetic to the way I was. I’ll be honest with you, my classmates literally hated me. I was bullied and… you know, they were laughing at me. At the way I looked like.”

Daryl’s heart beat faster, as he felt a sting of guilt.

“I wasn’t giving up, though. I didn’t want them to break me.” Paul’s eyes were empty, looking at something, what certainly wasn’t in that room, not now. “But each person has their limits, right? And so one day it went too far… They caught me somewhere, when I was alone, and they beat me up very badly. I was unconscious for almost two weeks. When I woke up… When I saw my body…”

He let out a shaking breath.

Daryl clenched his fists against his will. He wanted to comfort Jesus somehow, but he didn’t know how. He cursed himself in his mind. _Why am I always such a fuck-up in those things?!_

“Despite the bruises and one broken arm,” Jesus continued; “they plucked my hair out. Here.” He pointed at the back of his head.  “I still have a scar. You can see…”

The hunter approached him, and delicately split his hair. He tried to ignore the fact how soft they were. He found the part of skin mentioned by Jesus, which seemed much more fragile because of the slightly noticeable scar. He brushed it, feeling the anger fill him.

“When the doctors let me home, I wasn’t leaving my room for almost three months. I didn’t want to see anyone, to talk to anyone… They won. They managed to break me. I believed them.”

Daryl felt his mouth go dry.

“I–I started to hate myself. I started to hate my body. I wasn’t eating much. After this accident, when I got better, we moved to the other city. It took me a longer time to heal and I think I’ve never been healed completely. Since then sometimes I’m having the panic attacks and the episodes of this state, when I’m trying to, um, harm myself.”

Daryl wanted to squeeze his arm. To hold his hand. To stroke his cheek. To hug him. But he didn’t do anything. He didn’t have enough courage.

“By starving yourself?” he asked instead.

“When everything around me overwhelms me… yes, that’s how I cope with it. Destroying myself. Ugh, I know it’s pretty difficult to understand, but—“ he froze in the middle of the sentence as he saw Daryl roll up one of his sleeves. “What are y— Oh.” Daryl showed him the inner part of his forearm.

The marks on it weren’t clearly visible at first. Jesus put aside the empty bowl, took Daryl by hand and run his fingertips through Daryl’s skin. He could feel the scars. He looked up to meet Dixon’s eyes, but the hunter bowed his head.

“How?” Jesus asked him.

The strands of Daryl’s hair fell down on his face, and Jesus had to use all his mental strength to stop himself from reaching out to flick them back.

“Cigarettes,” Dixon answered.

“You burn yourself.” It wasn’t supposed to sound like a question. It was more like digesting an information.

Daryl rolled down his sleeve. “I understand,” he said. “If I’d ever met any of those fuckers who did this to ya, I’d kill ‘em.”

Jesus knew he meant it, and it made him smile.

“But I still don’t get why they did it,” Daryl murmured. It was an intended question and it caused the whole world disappear from Jesus’ feet. That was the thing he was trying to avoid. Just imagining Daryl’s reaction was making his stomach twist. A simple “what if?” would appear in his mind, the answer to which could ravish all his dreams into ashes.

He licked his lips, suddenly dry. “Well, because of my sexual preferences.”

Dixon stared at him. “Oh.” That was everything he could say. In one second a wide range of emotions hit him and if he wasn’t sitting, he would probably got knocked down by them. Anger on all those people who dared to hurt Jesus. Hope that Jesus may be interested in him. Fear that he might not be in his type. Shame, because he will never be good enough for him. Happiness and sadness in the same time.

“And that’s also why you… hated yerself?”

“Yup.”

“Oh.” It probably wasn’t the smartest thing he could’ve said.

“I see you’re a bit surprised?” Jesus gulped.

“Naw, I ain’t. I’m glad. I mean… I don’t mind. It only makes me wanna kill those basterds even more.”

“Oh.”

The silence spread between them.

“So, you and that woman at Hilltop—” Daryl started; “You two ain’t…?”

Jesus frowned. “No… no, no, no. Women are not really in my type.” His lips curved slightly upwards.

“Mmm… I thought you were together.”

“Why? Because I kissed her on a cheek?” The undefined growl from Daryl was a positive answer to Jesus’ question. “That’s stupid. I can kiss anyone. Even you.”

Daryl froze, and Jesus realized that what he said was awkward. He laughed, trying to ease the tension. “Kidding, Daryl. Don’t make this look. I promise you, I will never kiss you.”

“Heh. Right.” Daryl didn’t even smile. An unwanted yet not surprising emptiness filled his heart.

“Jokes aside,” Jesus continued; “it really means a lot to me, that you accept me. And that you care.”

“Um, yeah, I ain’t see why I wouldn’t. Ya can trust me and all this shit, but it’s just…”

“What?”

Daryl fidgeted in his seat. If he could, he would totally run away. “’m worried,” he panted eventually, not looking at the other man.

Jesus’ eyes crinkled up, as he smiled softly. “I know.” He made his way into Daryl’s arms. Encouraged Daryl embraced him, feeling the pleasant fluttering in his chest. Paul closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the hunter’s smell. It reminded him of woods and spirits, something wild longing to set free, and, oh God, if being that close to Daryl wasn’t so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some comments, please! I'm very curious what you think and how many mistakes I make. :P


	6. Nothing gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year, I'm late as always.  
> Leave comments, please!  
> Sorry for the mistakes!

“It’s almost dark. You sure you don’t wanna stay here for a night?” There was a genuine concern in Rick’s eyes and it made Jesus smile.

The sun casted its slowly setting rays on the gates of Alexandria. After his visit at Daryl’s, Paul had to talk with Rick about the supplies exchange between the two communities. He also decided to help a little and it took him much longer than he expected.

He shook his head. “I highly appreciate your proposition, but I’m good. Besides,” he pointed with his thumb at the car behind him; “I promised Daryl we’ll get back for his bike.”

“You know you don’t need to do this.”

“Technically it’s my fault that it broke, so yes, I do have to do this. If I want to stay alive, at least.” He laughed.

Rick squeezed his shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Thanks, man. This damn bike means for Daryl more than his life.

“I can bet!”

Rick rubbed his beard. “Just asking; Daryl did you no harm, I hope?”

Jesus opened his eyes wide. “Of course no. Today he was behaving very well.”

The ex-cop lowered his head and let out a short, muffled laugh. “Daryl has a difficult character, but he’s a good man.” He nodded, to emphasize his words. “I hope your trip warmed up things between you two.”

“What do you mean?” He frowned his eyebrows.

“I observed you weren’t really getting along.” Rick shrugged.

Jesus tilted his head, as if it could have helped him chew the ex-cop’s words. A sudden honk of a horn made them both turn in the direction of the sound. Daryl, sitting in the passenger seat in the car, gave them the murdering look.

Paul forced a smile on his lips. “Yeah, we’re running out of time,” he commented on Daryl’s impatience.

Rick embraced him, and they patted each other on the back. “Thanks, Jesus. See you soon, right?” He stepped away, to look him in the eyes.

Jesus cocked an eyebrow in amusement. “Even sooner.”  

He got inside the car, turned the engine on and waited, until Rick opened the gate. Grimes waved at him, shouting: “Watch out on the road!”

Jesus saluted in the response. When they left Alexandria behind, the smile disappeared from his face. He sighed.

“What, summin’s wrong?” Daryl asked him, his voice rough.

Paul glanced at him. “No.” A vertical line appeared on his forehead, as he frowned it. “Rick told me something about what I’m worried now.”

“Should I be worried too?”

A wistful smile raised the corners of Jesus’ mouth. “No. It’s irrelevant.” He shook his head.

Daryl pursed his lips. “Hm,” he murmured.

After a moment Jesus spotted some ruined shed by the road and it reminded him of something in his past. He started talking about it, and listening to him was a pure pleasure for Daryl. Paul’s eyes were glistening with joy, lines on his face formed into the genuine, enthusiastic expression. _He’s too good for this world_ , Daryl thought. Jesus didn’t see it, when a small smile made its way into Dixon’s lips.

The hunter didn’t even notice, when they stopped by the all too familiar stores. Jesus turned the engine off. None of them moved though, as if they were waiting for something to happen, deferring the moment of their parting.

“Daryl.” His voice was soft and gentle.

“Paul.”

Jesus smiled. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

Daryl felt as if someone punched him in the chest. Small fireworks exploded in his heart. “I, uh… I told Rick I’ll go huntin’, but—“

“What about the day after?” Jesus didn’t even let him finish. There was a desperation in his round eyes.

“I… I’unno. Why?” He licked his lips. _Easy, Dixon._

“I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come to Hilltop? I mean, I know, you come here very often,” he started gesturing chaotically, trying to make himself clear; “but you could come to me. To my place. We could do something together.” He grimaced, realizing the way he sounded was pretty close to “lunatic”. Daryl’s face only made him sure about it. “Dinner?” he rasped. “We could eat dinner, for example.”

Daryl was right about to answer, when Jesus added quickly: “I know what’s on your mind now. I swear, it’s nothing gay.”

If there were angelic choirs playing in the back of Daryl’s mind, they would stop right in that moment. The fireworks, earlier happily dancing in his heart, now burnt out, turned into the ashes, and left his soul cruelly empty.

“I’unno.”

There was a smile on Jesus’ face, but he couldn’t have hid the disappointment in his eyes. Daryl saw he hurt him and it was as if he hurt himself.

“Right, you need to think,” Paul said. He clasped his knees. “Let’s go for your bike, shall we?” He got out of the car.

Daryl followed him. “I can do it by myself.”

“No dice. What if something eats you?”

“What?”

“Just imagine. I’ll go to Rick, and he’ll ask me: “Hey, weirdo, where’s my precious Daryl?!”, and what would I tell him? “I don’t know, sir, the last time I saw him, he disappeared in some pretty awful looking, dark bushes.”

One corner of Daryl’s mouth rose up in a shadow of a smile.

Together they pulled out the bike from its lodge. Daryl checked on it, and when he decided everything was okay, he got on.

“If you change your mind about this dinner,” Jesus said and spread his arms, just like he did when they met for the first time; “you know where to find me.”

Daryl nodded and watched him turn around and run to the car. Both of them started up in the same moment.

The only thing Jesus could think of, was how stupid he was. Daryl practically rejected his offer, and it only confirmed his assumptions - Daryl didn’t really care about him. He was nice, because Rick told him to be.

 

*

 

The sun was in its meridian, when Daryl came back from the woods on the next day. The heat had no mercy on him, he was all sweating and what’s more, what he actually found surprising, he was tired. Out there in the forest he was doing everything automatically. He found no pleasure in hunting today, he just wanted to get it done.

Usually he would deliver the game to his friends immediately, but again – not today. First thing he did was reaching his house. He plopped the kill somewhere on the floor, and then he entered his bathroom. He turned the very cold water on and he put his head under the stream, not even bothered about taking his clothes off. He didn’t know how long he was standing there. Eventually, when the stinging pain attacked his skin like the billions of little needles, he straightened up.

He looked at himself in the mirror. The absolutely ugly face, with the inability to smile. Unbeautiful hair, always tussled and dirty. In one word: unattractive. That’s what he saw. He clenched his fists at the memory of the yesterday. Spending time with Jesus was so wonderful, but he couldn’t do it like that. He adored this man too much to be just friends with him.

Finally he went out to giveaway his quarry. He packed everything into a few bags and decided to pay a visit to Rick first.

 Michonne opened the door with a huge grin on her face, laughing. “Don’t you think I can’t see it!” she shouted at someone behind her back. “It’s Daryl!”

The hunter felt as if he didn’t come in the right moment. He cleared his throat. “I brought ya some rabbits.”

Michonne’s eyes lightened up with curiosity, as she took one of the packages from him. “Thank you. Maybe you want to join us? We’re playing some board games.”

Their innocent happiness suddenly annoyed him. “Nah. Ain’t playin’ no stupid games.”

He walked away. Normally he would stay at Rick’s longer, but today he wasn’t in a mood for it. He visited few more houses and eventually he ended his trip at Aaron’s and Eric’s.

They invited him for a cup of tea, and because he liked those two and he owed them few things, he didn’t reject the proposition. And so they were sitting in the living room, talking about some minor stuff, until Daryl drank his tea up and stood up, ready to leave. He stopped though, as an abrupt thought hit his mind.

“Um, can I ask ya summin’?”

Aaron glanced at Eric, and then smiled at Daryl, feeling that it was about to be important. “Of course. You can talk with us about anything.”

He hesitated for a moment. The wave of warmth heated up his cheeks. “How did ya two know, that… uh… How did ya came to be together?”

Aaron raised his eyebrows, not even trying to hide a surprise. “Shit, I don’t know. It was a long time ago.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“You don’t remember?” There was an amusement on Eric’s face. “Mooovie night?”

“Right!” He whacked himself in the forehead. “I’m sorry.” He gave Eric the apologetic look. “Eric invited me to his house for a movie marathon. I remember, there was this moment, when we were just sitting next to each other, not giving a damn about that movie. He looked at me, and I saw it in his eyes. I kissed him.”

“And I was like: dude, what took you so long?”

They both laughed at the memory. A faint smile appeared on Daryl’s face.

“Why do you ask, by the way?” Eric said to him.

Daryl shrugged. “Curious.”

Aaron knew it wasn’t the whole truth. He immediately became serious. “Is everything okay, Daryl?”

“Hm,” he murmured.

“You can tell us anything, you know? We may give you an advice, try to help.” Eric nodded at Aaron’s words.

Daryl hesitated for a second. “Thanks. I’ll pass.”

That night, when he was lying in bed, glaring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep, he was thinking about Paul. Was there anything special in the way Jesus looked at him? How exactly should he look to make it special? And what exactly was that “it” which Aaron saw in Eric’s eyes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, Daryl, how does exactly Jesus look at you?


	7. Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short, and there's no Jesus in it. I hope you'll forgive me, my dear readers. (but hey, there's Rick being himself!)  
> Again, thanks for the comments. Don't be afraid to comment! It really means a lot to me.   
> sorry for the mistakes

In the morning Daryl took his switch on the watch. The day was moving on fast, even though nothing really happened. Dixon was wandering from place to place, being tossed around by his own thoughts. Eventually he sat down somewhere by the pond, and he tried to calm his mind. He unsheathed his knife and started sharpening it. It would always bring him peace. He didn’t know how much time he spent there, when suddenly he heard someone approaching him. He didn’t even need to turn around to know that it was Rick Grimes.

“Mind if I join you?” the ex-cop asked.

Daryl shrugged, and it equaled agreeing.

For a while they were sitting in silence, looking at the water, reflecting the rays of the afternoon sun. The ground was pleasantly warm, the cicadae playing their subdued music.

“Daryl, can I be honest with you?”

Dixon put down his knife and looked at Rick, completely focused on him. “Of course.”

“I’m worried.”

“’bout…?”

“You.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows and murmured something what certainly wasn’t a decent word. “What’s wrong with all ya people? Suddenly ya’ll so fuckin’ interested in me.” He grabbed a stone, laying nearby in the soil, and he threw it to the pond. It landed with a loud splash. “Damn ya.”

Any other person would go away, if someone treated them the way Daryl did to Rick. But not Grimes. He knew the hunter too well. He didn’t say anything, he was just sitting there, waiting for Daryl to ease his anger. His abrupt reaction only confirmed what he suspected – something was wrong.

“Daryl,” he tried once more. “We’re brothers…”

“Mhm.” The hunter bowed his head, trying to hide his burning face behind the bangs. “’m sorry.” His voice was quiet. He wanted to say something explaining his foolish and rude behavior, but he didn’t know how.

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay. I understand.” Rick also grabbed few stones and started to play ducks and drakes. He wasn’t very successful though. “What I’m trying to say here is that brothers trust each other. And I trust you.”

“I trust ya too,” he said quickly, lifting up his head.

“I know. But I feel like you’re not telling me something.”

“Ya didn’t tell me about that blonde. Or ‘bout Michonne.”

Rick sighed. “You’re right, I didn’t. But it’s a bit different now. I can see you fret.”

“Hm.”

“I’m not trying to push you, of course. I just thought that, uh, you might need a talk or something.”

Daryl thought about it for a moment. He could have used Aaron’s offer and ask him for an advice, but he wasn’t self-confident enough to do it. It would basically mean a soul’s exhibitionism, and it was definitely too much for Daryl, always trying to hole up under the layers of aloofness and detachment. But Rick was different. He was his best friend.

He looked at Grimes, a little shy, a little scared. “Um, so… imagine that someone invites ya for dinner, but as a friend, and, uh… you ain’t wanna be there as a friend. What’cha do?”

Honestly, Rick didn’t see it coming. He opened his mouth, as he wanted to answer somehow, and almost immediately he closed it, having a blank space in his mind.

“I’m thinking…” He licked his lips. “I think I’d come anyway. If that person means a lot to me, I’d try being close to her… to them… no matter what.” He smiled apologetically. “But it’s me. And you are you. I could help more if I knew who it is.”

Daryl looked away. “No one really,” he mumbled.

Rick chuckled. “Oh, right. God, who could have invited our glorious Daryl Dixon on a date?”

“Ain’t date.” He felt his cheeks warm up.

“Right. Dinner. Sorry.” Rick couldn’t help his amusement. “That must be a VERY special person. I’ve never seen you with anyone, so…”

Suddenly that was enough for Daryl. “It’s Jesus,” he slipped out, before he managed to bite his tongue.

Rick blinked quickly. A smile froze on his lips. “As in Paul Rovia…?”

“Yes. As in Paul. Motherfucking. Rovia.” He stood up and he brushed his hair. He started walking in circles.

Grimes frowned his brow. He didn’t know what to say. That was so… sudden and abrupt. “But… it doesn’t make any sense.”

“What, that I might be gay?!”

“No. Daryl, please, sit down. I need to… um… I need a moment, okay?”

Eventually Dixon sat next to him. He was cheesed off at himself, at Rick, at Jesus, at the whole fucking world. He clenched his teeth.

“Okay,” Rick broke the silence after a longer while. “Okay. I was suspecting that you’re gay for a longer time now, it’s not that big of a surprise for me.”

Daryl felt the whole world wipe off from under his feet. He gulped. “Ya won’t tell anyone…?”

Rick looked at him as if he was talking to an imbecile. “You’re out of your mind? Of course I won’t.” It relaxed Daryl a little. Grimes continued: “I just don’t get it why Jesus. You’ve been always so mean to him, and— ” He shook his head, too confused to think plainly.

Dixon dropped his gaze. He felt his mouth go dry. He had to clear his throat. “I didn’t want to get too close. I knew he won’t ever fall for me. And it’d be just…” He touched his chin.

“Hurting?”

Daryl nodded in response. “Then you told me to go on a run with him. It was only one day, but it was enough. I got too close.”

“What do you mean?” Rick realized his heart was beating too fast. That was probably the first time he had such a talk with Daryl.

“I really enjoyed it.” If he could, he would hide under the ground.

“And did he…?”

“I think so.” He bit on his bottom lip, as he hesitated. “We talked. He told me he’s gay. And then, in the car, he invited me for that damn dinner.”

“Well, so that WAS an invitation on a date!” He swung his hands, as to emphasize his words.

“But he told me it’s nothing gay.”

Rick’s hands fall down, like the popped balloons. His emotional engagement in the whole case was amusing for Daryl.

“Okay. And YOU did tell him that you’re gay too, right?”

“Um, no. I didn’t.”

“What?” Rick pressed one palm to his face and let out an exhausted sigh. “Daryl…” He rubbed his eyes. “Why?”

Daryl cringed, as if someone hit him. Because he was too afraid. Because he didn’t want to give himself the false hope. None words came through his tight throat.

Rick’s eyes softened. “Okay, you don’t need to explain. I understand.” He grimaced, thinking. “Maybe Jesus told you it’s nothing gay, because he feared your reaction?”

Daryl’s shoulders fell. He didn’t say anything.

Rick continued: “He doesn’t know that you’re gay, but he wanted to spend time with you anyway. Probably he didn’t want you to reject his proposition, so that’s why he said it. He didn’t want you to think that he was hitting on you, because he was afraid. That’s what I think.”

“Ya ain’t know for sure,” Daryl murmured.

“You’re right, I don’t. The only way to get to know it though, is to go there, and check.”  

It made Daryl ponder. “Ya think…?” he asked.

“Sure. You should totally go to him.”

Dixon brushed his beard. “I was to come today. It’s too late now.”

Rick looked at the sun, slowly heading to the west. Then he looked at Daryl. He smiled. “It’s never too late, brother.”

Daryl chew those words and nodded, silently agreeing with Rick.

Rick took another swing with a stone, ready to ducks’ and drakes’.

“Yer doin’ it wrong,” Daryl stopped him. He took a stone away from him, he showed him how to do the right angle with the wrist and then he skipped the stone along the surface of the water. It had bounced three times, before it drowned.

Daryl patted Rick on the back.

“Good luck,” Grimes wished him, and watched Daryl disappear behind the trees.

He tried to repeat the wrist movement Daryl showed him. He shook his head. Will this man ever stop surprising him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bring it on, Daryl.


	8. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no, we're slowly heading to an end! :(

Something had to go wrong.

Daryl changed his clothes, tried to make himself look like something better than a piece of shit, he grabbed few things into a bag and he hit the road. He was driving as fast as he could, knowing that he was already late. He hoped Jesus didn’t forget about him. If Daryl was important to him, Jesus wouldn’t forget, right? Another thing, as Daryl didn’t show on time, Jesus would probably think now, that Daryl forgot about _him_.

He took one last turn before getting on that muddy path leading straightly to the Hilltop, and he pushed the brake to stop the vehicle.

“Holy fuck!” he yelled, trying to get back the control over the bike. But it was driving too fast. It banked at the weird angle, and it hit the ground, throwing its rider off. Knocked down Daryl rolled over the road. He landed on his stomach, right in the middle of the walkers horde.

He was trying to take a breath, but he couldn’t. His whole body hurt him. He hissed, trying to get up. No matter what, he had to defend himself. All bruised, he forced himself to stand up. There was ringing in his ears, and thumping in his head. He could have barely stayed on his legs.

“Damn it…” he snorted.

Walkers started approaching him, growling and moaning, willing to eat his flesh. He wouldn’t give them no satisfaction. He took his crossbow, and started shooting, aiming slowly, carefully, as he didn’t trust his senses now. Arrow by an arrow, his enemies were falling down, lifeless.

He pressed the trigger once more, and then he realized he run out of ammunition.

“Fuck.”

One of the walkers suddenly grabbed him by his arm. He turned around quickly, and stabbed a knife in its head. When he pulled it out, he aimed and threw it at the latest of the walkers, hitting it perfectly in the eye.

The silence ruled over the road. Daryl let out a sigh of relief. He collected his arrows and knife, and he came back for his bike. When he put up the vehicle, he saw something got broken, and the gas was leaking now.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

Angry at the whole world, he started walking to the Hilltop, leading the bike by his side.

 

*

 

It was already dark, when he reached the gates of Gregory’s community. The guards didn’t recognize him at first. They directed their rifles at him.

“Who the fuck is this?” one of them shouted.

“Daryl,” he answered. “Um, Rick sent me.”

They eventually let him in. He abandoned his bike somewhere by the fence, and he rushed to the main building. Some of the lights were turned on, and as he stepped inside, he finally saw the way he looked like. Needless to say, all the effort he put into his looks went fuck itself. He was all covered in blood, dust and bruises, his shirt torn in few spots.

He was about to go upstairs, when he got stopped by one of the men working on weapons.

“You’re for Jesus? He’s not here,” he said.

“Ya know where I can find ‘im?”

The man shrugged. “The last time I saw him, he was by the gate.”

Daryl nodded, and not saying anything more, he went back the same way. Although Jesus certainly wasn’t there, because otherwise _he_ would have opened the gate for Daryl. The hunter started strolling back and forth, trying to spy the other man. The wall was long, he could’ve been basically anywhere. It seemed like an eternity, as Daryl was walking, and still there was no sign of Paul. He started feeling anxious, and eventually even hopeless.

He stopped and let out a shaking breath. He was tired, his whole body aching, and he was sauntering in the night like an idiot, looking for a man, who probably wasn’t even there. He blinked quickly, wiping the sadness off. Disappointed and embarrassed, he turned back, not sure what to do now, as he didn’t find Jesus, and his bike was broken. Unhappy, he was passing by one of the watchtowers, when suddenly he heard a voice… _that_ voice, which made his heart beat twice faster:

“You lost something?”

He spun around, expecting to see him behind his back, but nobody was there.

“Or maybe you’re looking for someone?”

His eyes were wandering around, and he still couldn’t see him.

“Up,” the voice suggested.

Daryl raised his head. Jesus was sitting on one of the supporting timbers of the scaffold. His silhouette was shaded, so it couldn’t’ve been seen clearly. He jumped down, and landed gracefully on the ground, right in front of Daryl. Dixon stopped breathing. If he could, he would totally fall on the soil and started kissing it. Instead he was standing there in awe, motionless, deeply touched. Right when he abandoned all his hopes, Paul Rovia appeared there, and made the world more beautiful again.

He stepped into the light, and then Daryl reconsidered that bit about “world being more beautiful”. Jesus looked different. He was far from that sweet, warm person, his eyes cold like two iced lakes, no smile on his face.

“You are sent by Rick?” he asked, and it sounded somehow unpleasantly dark and empty. He crossed his arms on his chest.

Daryl opened his mouth, but suddenly he forgot how to use his tongue. “I, uh…”

“What?” Jesus snapped, raising his eyebrows.

“No…” He cleared his throat. “No, Rick didn’t send me.”

“So what are you doing here?” His voice was so adamant, it was causing Daryl shred.

“Ya invited me,” Dixon said quietly, unsure.

“I did. And still you came only after Rick told you to do so, right?”

Daryl wasn’t looking at him. “No. I lied. Nobody made me. I came ‘ere ‘cause I wanted ta.”

The expression on Jesus’ face started slowly changing. The cold look washed away, replaced by the softness. “Oh… you mean… you’re here for _me_?” he sounded gentler now, evidently melted by his discovery.  Daryl nodded, and then Jesus realized he was mean because of his own foolishness. “Oh. I’m so sorry, I thought… Christ, I’m sorry.” He started gesticulating. “I thought you decided to stay at Alexandria. Or you forgot. And when I overheard that it was Rick who told you to come, it made me angry, because I thought you don’t care. But you said now you lied, so it wasn’t Rick, and you really were honest with me. I’m so sorry I doubted. It was a misunderstanding, I’m sorry. And, crap! I was already eating, because I was sure you won’t come, and—“

He stopped in motion, as Daryl put one hand on his arm, and squeezed it gently. Jesus looked at him, surprised and speechless, settled down by his touch.

“s’okay, Paul.” The rough tone in Daryl’s voice reminded Jesus how much he actually loved it. “I would’ve come earlier, but I had an accident. ‘m sorry.”

“A–an accident?” Jesus repeated, and his eyes grew wide.

“Mhm. Ma bike broke, and the walkers there—”

“Shit, are you okay?”

His genuine concern warmed Daryl’s heart up. “A bit bruised, nothin’ major.”

Jesus shook his head, completely serious. He did few steps in the direction of the main house. “Come. I’ll give you something to drink at least.”

 

*

 

This time they were in the living room of the small apartment Jesus lived in. They were sitting in front of each other. Daryl on the coach, Jesus in the rocking chair. He was looking at the hunter, deeply concerned.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Daryl nodded. He put an empty glass of water back on the table. “Thanks.”

Jesus took the glass immediately and went to the kitchen to fill it. He came back and placed it back.

“Ya didn’t need ta,” Daryl said. He raised his gaze up, and in that moment, with that expression, he looked both hot and cute. Jesus smiled softly.

“What?” Dixon asked him.

“I think I don’t understand.”

“That smile on yer face.” Daryl pointed with his finger.

Jesus felt the wave of heat rush to his cheeks. He turned his back to him, pretending to check something on one of his shelves. “Is it forbidden to smile now?”

“Nah, but this one was different. As if ya—“ He bit on his tongue at the sudden realization, that appeared in his mind. Maybe Rick was right?

“As if I what?”

Daryl shook his head. “Naw, nothin’. ’m delusional I guess.”

Jesus breathed heavily. It could’ve been seen that something was on his mind. Daryl fidgeted in his seat, concealing the urge to come to the other man and to hug him.

“You’re not delusional,” Paul said suddenly, making the blood in Daryl’s veins freeze. He didn’t know what it was leading to but by the look on Jesus’s face he could feel it’ll be something hurting. A wide range of thoughts dashed through Daryl’s mind.

Paul was looking down, carefully avoiding the eye contact. He leaned over the wall, crossing the arms on his chest. “You deserve to know the truth.” His lips curved into the faint smile. “This will change a lot between us, I bet. All I can ask you for is to treat it… gently. I just can’t live like this any longer.”

“Get to the point already,” Daryl mumbled, getting more and more scared.

Jesus glanced at him, and there were no sparkles in his eyes this time. “I like you,” he confessed.

Daryl didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t pretend to be dumb, no, he really didn’t know what it was leading to. Or maybe he knew, but he didn’t want to accept it…

“I like ya too…” he said, halting.

Jesus shook his head. “This is not what I mean.” He rubbed his beard, thinking of how to speak out his thoughts, how to explain the whole situation to Daryl. At last, he decided to start from the beginning. “It happened, when I saw you for the first time. You immediately intrigued me, there was something in you making you different from all the people I’ve ever met. And as time was passing, I was noticing more and more details in you – in your looks, character, behavior, everything. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Initially it was extremely annoying for me, I wanted to push it away, to stop it, but eventually I just… I just let it be. I accepted it.” He sighed again. He gathered all his courage and he stared straight into the hunter’s eyes. “I fell for you, Daryl, and damn it, if anything can change my feelings.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anybody saw it coming?


	9. I'm here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, nooo... this is the end! ;_;

The silence flopped on them heavily. Daryl’s heart was pounding in his chest so loudly he was sure Jesus could hear it. He processed everything he heard. Jesus liked him. Jesus fell for him. Maybe it was a dream, and he will wake up in a moment. Maybe it was a joke, and Jesus will start laughing in a while. Maybe it just wasn’t for real – not in this time, not in this room, not in this universe.

Daryl blinked, and yet he still was there, as well as Jesus, glaring at him with those blue eyes of his, now covered by the fog of affliction. He was looking all way vulnerable, like the beaten up dog. Daryl stood up slowly, and steadily approached him, step by step, through the dreams right into the reality. He stopped close to Paul, and he reached with his hand to the other man’s face, willing to brush his cheek.

Jesus turned his head away, keeping off the touch.

Daryl froze in the middle of the movement. “I thought ya want this,” he murmured, embarrassed.

Jesus bend his head down. “I do. But not like this. Not when I know you’re forcing yourself.”

Daryl gulped. “I ain’t,” he whispered, his voice harsh as never before. He flicked the strands of Jesus’ hair behind his ear, uncovering his face. Paul looked up at him, his eyes glossy, lips parted in surprise. “I’ve also had feelings to ya,” Daryl continued. “Was just afraid.”

Jesus’ mouth started slowly forming into a smile. “Why?”

Daryl dropped his gaze. Suddenly the carpet he was standing on seemed to be extremely interesting. “’cause yer this good, kind, perfect man, and ‘m nothin’,” he mumbled so quietly, Jesus almost didn’t hear him.

He delicately grabbed Daryl by his chin and raised his head, forcing him to make the eye contact. “This is not true, Daryl. You’re strong, caring, protective. You’re a beautiful human being. You really are.”

Daryl blinked quickly. Nobody has ever said something like that about him. He slowly nodded, still unsure, and they remained silent again. The time stopped. There were only them in this room, looking one another in the eyes, both with admiration, both a bit shy, but with joy and excitement.

Jesus stroked Daryl’s chin. “So as we all know our feelings now,” he spoke up; “can I kiss you, mister Dixon?”

Daryl hesitated. “But ‘m all dirty.”

“Not that much. I don’t care.”

Paul closed the distance between them, moving his hand to the back of Daryl’s neck. He brushed his nose against Daryl’s, and… he grinned. And then he started laughing.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I can’t stop myself. I can’t believe it’s happening.”

“Ya ruined the mood, fucker.” Daryl smiled as well, equally amused.

“Says who? A person, who cannot even handle dealing with—“

Daryl didn’t allow him to finish. He took Jesus’s face in hands, and he pressed his lips to Jesus’s, shutting him for good. Both of them closed their eyes, and it wasn’t long until Jesus deepened the kiss, entangling their tongues. It was soft and steady, as they were tasting each other, relishing the bitter-sweet feelings.

They slowly pulled away, their foreheads still pressed to each other. Jesus was grinning like an idiot and Daryl couldn’t refrain from caressing one of his pink cheeks. Then he moved his hand to Paul’s long hair, to feel again its softness.

“Yer so gorgeous.”

Paul closed his eyes. “As gorgeous as you?”

“I ain’t.”

Jesus looked at him and put his finger on Daryl’s lips, stopping him from saying anything more. He kissed him passionately, trying to acknowledge Daryl how much Jesus adored him. They somehow spun around, Dixon shoved the other man and pressed him against the wall. Jesus blinked quickly, smirk on his face, surprised and content. He didn’t even have any time for a proper reaction, as Daryl ground to him and gifted him with more kisses. It felt so good, Jesus was sure that if not Daryl’s hand, grasped on his shoulder, he would totally melt, or at least faint. A moan escaped his throat, as Daryl’s fingers moved down, leaving their track on Jesus’s side, leading to his thigh. He tilted his head back, and Dixon treated it as an invitation. He began marking Jesus’s neck with wet traces of his mouth.

“Daryl…” he whispered in a way causing shivers in the hunter.

“Paul.” His breath tickled Jesus’s skin. He rested his head on Jesus’s shoulder, hiding his face in the dimple between Jesus’s neck and collarbone. The other man wrapped his arms around Daryl’s waist, embracing him tightly. They could’ve stayed like this forever.

 

*

 

Jesus opened his eyelids slowly, exhausted and aching. Letting out a deep moan from his throat, he straightened up. He blinked few times, just to wash away the sleep from his eyes. He lifted himself up on his arms, and he looked around. He was lying on the couch, what was explaining the pain in his whole body. The dawn mercilessly broke through the closed windows.

He sat up, and rubbed his face with hands. He felt like something was missing, something very important… He was thinking very hard, and when he realized, what it was, his eyes filled up with unwanted tears.

It was a dream.

How much did he drink yesterday? He didn’t remember. He couldn’t recall, if he was drinking _anything_ , to be honest.

Suddenly he heard a _clunk_. Hope made its way to Jesus’ heart. He almost run to the kitchen, and he froze, blood running in his veins definitely too fast. It was empty.

He sighed, unhappy and angry at himself for his own stupidity. Damn it, what that fucker Dixon was doing to him. For a one second Jesus actually believed that all the events of the last evening happened for real.

He grabbed the glass from one of the cupboards aggressively, and he filled it with water. He decided he won’t eat today absolutely _anything_. The food had no taste, the world was miserable, living was useless, and he really had no strength to deal with all this shit around him. Well, it certainly wasn’t his day.

He went to his bedroom. He already was making plans in his head on what to wear today. He really wanted to put on his favorite white shirt, but on the other hand, what if he came across Daryl? Dixon seemed to like blue more, so maybe it’d be better to wear something in this color, just in case? Jesus clenched his teeth. _Since when do I dress for someone’s likeness?_ , he thought.

Suddenly the door to the bathroom sprung open, making Paul jump in fear and spill his water all around.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled.

“Daryl Dixon,” said the man in front of him.

Paul looked at him with his eyes wide open, not sure if he was hallucinating or no. “What the hell…” he rasped, his voice high. He shut his eyes, counted to three, and opened them again. Nothing changed – both he and Daryl still were there.

The hunter bowed his head. He crossed his arms on his bare chest, wearing nothing but trousers. “Sorry. Didn’t mean ta startle ya.”

“To startle?!” Jesus put his hands on his head. He started aimlessly walking around. “Oh my… I thought you were gone! I… I thought it all didn’t happen! Damn it, I was sure I got drunk yesterday and it all was a dream!” He stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes. “Or is it…?”

Daryl licked his lips. “It ain’t,” he mumbled, his voice harsh.

Jesus sighed and rubbed his chin. He shook his head, making his hair fell in waves on his face. “I guess I’m just stupid.”

“No.”

Paul glanced at him, and his expression immediately changed. “I’m sorry, Daryl. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” He approached him and he grasped his wrists delicately, to pull his hands away from his chest. He brushed the upper parts of his palms, and squeezed them gently. “I just… panicked.”

“I see. I would panic too.” Daryl smiled softly. He saw a glimpse of fear in the other man’s eyes, and he realized Jesus needed him now. He remembered of what he told Daryl – about his past and anxiety disorder. Dixon pulled him closer, and embraced him tightly. “’m here, Paul,” he whispered. “I’d never leave ya.” He started to stroke Jesus’ hair in a soothing manner.

Jesus sighed, relaxing. He cuddled into Daryl’s body, finding peace in its pleasant warmth, and breathing in the smell of his skin. Suddenly all the stress he was coping with started slowly fading. “Mm, Daryl, you smell good,” he said quietly, without even thinking.

Dixon blushed. “I used yer shampoo or some shit.”

“It’d better not be shit.” He smiled. His hands found its way to Daryl’s back to caress it. When he felt underneath his fingertips a hollow of one of Daryl’s scars, he also felt Daryl tense. Jesus gulped. He didn’t want the hunter to feel uncomfortable in any way, he wanted to show him that he’s loved.

He stepped back. He grasped Daryl’s face in palms, he stood on his toes and he kissed him lazily. Then he looked into Daryl’s deep blue eyes, and he stroke Daryl’s cheek with his thumb.

“Come,” he whispered. He grabbed him by his hand, and he made Daryl follow him to the bed.

The hunter froze. His heart sped up. About thousands of doubts rushed through his mind. The last time he did it with a man was a long time ago, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for it now. He didn’t want to disappoint Paul or to embarrass himself.

“Easy,” Paul said softly. He sat down, and so did Daryl. “Lay down on your stomach. Please.”

Daryl hesitated. “Paul, I ain’t really in a—“

“Shh. Just trust me. Okay?” Paul’s face was serious, but also genuine.

Dixon nodded. He wasn’t afraid. He did as Paul said, his heart thumping in his chest like crazy. And after a moment which seemed like eternity, he felt Paul’s hands on his skin. His fingertips run through Daryl’s back, barely touching him, as if investigating a foreign territory – his neck, his broad, strong shoulders, the dimple in the bottom part of his back. Daryl felt Jesus’ hair and beard tickle his skin, and then Jesus’ tongue trace the length of Dixon’s spine, causing pleasant shivers in the hunter. But Jesus didn’t stop in this point. His lips found one of the scars, and he kissed it so delicately, Daryl forgot how to breathe. Nobody has ever touched him this way, and when Paul did, kissing the pain away from each of the scars – as if it was the most normal thing in the world – Daryl couldn’t hold tears any longer.

 

*

 

Paul borrowed him the biggest t-shirt he had, and yet it was very tight. Not that Paul minded – the view was quite endearing, as the clothing was outstandingly highlighting Daryl’s muscles.

“People will talk,” Daryl said, his voice muffled.

“Even if so, then what? Why would we care about it?”

“I ain’t ya.”

Paul closed the distance between them. He caressed Daryl’s cheek. “I promise you, if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, I’ll kick their stupid ass so hard, they won’t be able to walk for a month.”

Daryl laughed. “God, have mercy.”

“I’m no God, just Jesus. “Mercy” doesn’t exist in my dictionary.”

“That’s sweet.” He kissed him.

When they walked out of the main building, Jesus couldn’t stop himself from grinning and talking about everything, what was on his mind. Daryl was more than happy to listen, and to enjoy the sound of Jesus’ voice, at last legally. They found Daryl’s bike abandoned somewhere by the fences, and after having bantered for a while, they decided to load it on a truck, and take it to Alexandria together.

Travelling has never felt so good before. They were talking, and glancing at each other from time to time. When Jesus put one hand on Daryl’s knee, the hunter intertwined their fingers. Paul could feel pleasant fluttering in his chest each time Daryl smiled at him, or laughed. Seeing Daryl openly happy was rare and so it was the most satisfying thing in the world for Jesus.

When they arrived, they drove straightly to Daryl’s house. They parked his bike, and they went inside. Daryl changed his clothes and gave Jesus his t-shirt back. They had lunch together, and then they were kissing a lot, until Jesus finally decided he needed to go.

That night they both fell asleep with smiles on their faces. Daryl – knowing that he’s loved, for the first time so purely and genuinely. Paul, wearing his reclaimed t-shirt, dug in the smell of his hunter.

 

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers!  
> Thank you for being here and reading to the end. I'm so sorry for all the possible mistakes - English is my second language. If you enjoyed this story, let me know what you think about it in the comments. It means a lot to me.  
> Hopefully, I'll post something more soon. 
> 
> Feel free to visit my DA: [miasmatique](http://miasmatique.deviantart.com/)  
> Tumblr: [agent-of-madness](http://agent-of-madness.tumblr.com/)
> 
> see you in the future! :)


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